Horse Sense
by WargishBoromirFan
Summary: Pre-war: When young Erchirion decides to make his own entertainment during the Steward's visit, the middle son of Imrahil is in for a painful lesson or two.


**A/****N:** Tolkien owns them, I just tend the horses. Something of a sequel to "Up," though you don't necessarily have to read one to get the other. Erchirion needs more love.

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><p>Erchirion's elder cousin was a master of horses, equal to the ruling Prince of Dol Amroth himself, if not the Rohirrim or elves. His own horse was impeccably mannered, confining itself to camp once he'd walked it along the boundaries without need for a tie-off and patient with the untrained children like Erchirion and his little siblings. As far back as the boy could remember, his cousin had been able to calm the most skittish of animals and comfortably ride anything in Gondor's stables, bringing Erchirion's own pony back to him without a lead when the youngster had forgotten his ground-tie. He knew when to be firm and when to resort to bribery with both steed and budding rider as he helped Imrahil teach his second son in the art of equestrianism. When Erchirion did goad him into racing over uneven ground, his older cousin could outpace and out-jump him just enough that the boy suspected he was holding back to watch Erchirion's own wild gallop. He never lectured the boy for taking risks as Elphir was wont to do - as long as they weren't particularly stupid risks - but for every run there was extra time spent walking beside the pony to cool it off, extra time spent picking hooves and brushing out the sweat, and extra water and grain once the horses were past the risk of exercise-induced bloat. This was usually followed with a small something extra for Erchirion as well, provided he did his chores without complaint, and his cousin was a companionable taskmaster, so the boy always looked forward to riding with Faramir.<p>

His eldest cousin, although certainly enjoyable to visit, was hardly as good with animals. Boromir was an indifferent horseman; seen trailing his big gray mare with a good-natured curse for about every third time he tried to bring her in from the paddock and preferring to leave her daily needs to the stable-hands after confirming the state of her care. The elder of Erchirion's cousins was good enough of a rider to usually keep his seat if his mare spooked or tried to take the bit in her teeth, but even the bold, brash man himself knew better than to try to ride Prince Imrahil's favorite spirited, high-strung gelding.

So, all things considered, while Erchirion was glad to have one of his cousins ride to his rescue, he really would have rather it have been Faramir instead.

It had not seemed such a bad idea in theory. With Boromir and Lord Denethor come to visit for Lothiriel's third birthday, everyone had been distracted with the baby or touring the city defenses or questioning how Faramir was coming along with his military training or staying neater and tidier than Erchirion was certain was humanly possible or at least making a game attempt to get Amrothos straightened up. Meanwhile, Erchirion was not jealous of all the attention his baby sister was getting, not like Amrothos who acted like he might waste away if the six-year-old didn't have someone watching him at all times - besides, Boromir had sat down with all four of them and answered all the questions Elphir, Erchirion, and Amrothos could throw at him until their mother insisted that they give their grown cousin a little time to rest from the journey and Erchirion had asked him the most - but Erchirion was getting a bit bored with the restraints and formalities imposed upon the prince's family during a visit from the Steward. And his father's gelding was languishing in the stables, unexercised and unsupervised…

It had been too much to resist. Erchirion had snuck away to the stables and hastily assembled saddle, pad, and bridle while the groomsmen were distracted with their other charges. He had had some trouble slipping the twisted bridle over the uneasily tossing head, but it had gone on eventually with the aid of a mounting block, lead rope over the neck, and more carrots than his father or Faramir would likely have approved just before a run. The saddle girth was tight enough, as long as the leggy roan hadn't puffed too much at his inexperienced handler, and if the stirrups were too long, it was a simple matter to stand in them now and take them up later, once they were out of sight. In theory.

In practice, Erchirion had lost his left stirrup almost immediately after prompting the gelding into a gallop faster than he had ever wanted, canting dangerously in the loose saddle as the right stirrup twisted about his leg. He tried to rein in, but the horse would have none of it, jerking the reins from his hands with a toss of the finely-dished head. Too frightened to regain the reins, the boy transferred his grip to the gelding's coarse mane, clinging for dear life as he tried to flail back to center and get loose of the twisted stirrup. Sensitive to his usual rider's every change in posture, the roan took this as further signal to bolt for the gates. Erchirion closed his eyes and grit his teeth against the jolting impact of every hoof. Whenever he'd ridden double with his father, Imrahil had coaxed the gelding into a smooth running-walk that made the boy's own pony's trot seem as pounding and uneven as a lame cow, but this was no gentle controlled gait he had gotten from the roan gelding now. The horse ran as if the Wargs of Mordor were clinging to its back, and all Erchirion could do was cling.

"Erchirion!"

He opened one eye when he heard Boromir call out to him. His cousin was astride his blocky gray warhorse, and the mare had put on every possible burst of speed, too proud to be outdone by a much more delicately-built new stable-mate. The roan attempted to run even faster, spurred on by the beat of the approaching pounding hooves, but Erchirion could feel the sweat dampening the gelding's neck as well as his rider's back and prayed that he could maintain his clammy grip until Boromir reached him. The roan had been bred from Rohhiric stock for speed and gait, but the gray mare had the stamina of a true warhorse of Gondor. If Erchirion could just hold tight, his cousin would catch up to him. Every clattering hoof seemed to send the saddle slipping further off-center, and the now-empty stirrups whipped between his calves and the sensitive horse's flanks. The dark sweat was beginning to build a layer of off-white lather against the gelding's mottled reddish coat and the big, slow heartbeat pounded nearly as fast as Erchirion's. They couldn't keep this pace up forever, one way or another.

"Hang on!" Boromir called, trying to head the runaway off. His horse had pinned her ears back when Erchirion dared look past the gelding's neck, and both horse and rider strained for fluttering reins fallen below the roan's fine head. Boromir pulled ahead at last, herding the gelding to one side with a snaking bite from the mare to the roan's withers and an attempted sideways kick from the frightened gelding. Boromir cursed and withdrew his hand from the sudden lack-of-space between the horses, but what the battle-mare lacked in tractability she made up for in stubbornness and quick reflexes, dodging the wild kick with ease and loosing a warning snort that sounded almost contemptuous.

Erchirion hadn't adapted to the sudden turn and deceleration as well as his cousin and their mounts. As fiercely as he had been gripping the gelding's neck, he did not come completely unhorsed when the saddle inevitably twisted out of place during the sudden turn, but was now more sideways than atop the roan and gravity was working against panic-strengthened muscles.

"Easy…" Boromir cautioned both rider and horses, reining his warhorse in sharply now that they had at least halted Erchirion's initial untamed flight. The gelding still danced apprehensively in place, his muscles shuddering beneath Erchirion's grip, but the big mare's presence seemed to have taken the worst of the fear from him. "Easy, there," Boromir repeated, making another attempt at the reins. The wild-eyed roan shied away, but the elder cousin risked his own seat in a rough snatch at the dangling tassels. Both horses protested the sudden movement, and Erchirion dropped to the sea-grass beneath him, too winded by the force of impact to move out of the way of the heavy hooves. As strong as his cousin was, no man could entirely force a thousand-pound horse by physical pulling alone, and the bridle had not tangled to Boromir's advantage. Erchirion had not recovered enough breath to scream when the unshod hoof came down upon his arm.

It could have been worse, the boy reflected as his elder cousin slapped the nervous gelding away, sending his mare to follow after making a hasty but less dangerously-angled dismount with a lead rope dangling from his arm. It could have been Boromir's shod warhorse that trampled him or Faramir or Elphir come to rescue him, if those were worse options for different reasons. "Erchirion? Anything broken?"

Erchirion let out a small whimper, clutching his arm as his cousin helped him sit up. "Can you move it?" Boromir asked, a supportive arm around his shoulders. The horses had settled down to crop at the brine-laced grass lining the path from the stables. From the other direction, he heard the ominous sound of approaching footsteps in counterpoint to his mother's voice. He wriggled his fingers experimentally and bit his lip.

"It hurts."

"Your legs are fine, though? Didn't hit your head, did you?" A nod and shake of his head were all the response Erchirion felt up to giving. "Let me see your arm." Obediently, the boy presented his wounded limb, allowing his cousin to bind it with the leather lead rope. Then Boromir stood, hauling his younger cousin to his feet. "Now let's get your horse and check the tack."

"Erchirion! Boromir! What in the blazes is going on here?" The Princess of Dol Amroth had caught up with her son, and she had not come alone. Even with Boromir's hand on his back, Erchirion trembled under the Lord Steward's gaze, and Prince Imrahil was uncharacteristically silent and expressionless. Usually Erchirion's father fought to control his amusement at the boys' worst stunts, but right now Lord Denethor wore a more genuine smile.

"Just a riding lesson, Aunt Ainaelin," Boromir explained smoothly, as if they had planned this all along. Erchirion couldn't meet his mother's gaze. With but a genial wave to his elders, Boromir turned his wounded cousin around and hastened towards the horses. As if to save them the trouble of regaining their mounts, Imrahil whistled, and the gelding trotted up to him as if it were the meekest, mildest animal in the stables. Even the stubborn gray mare followed somewhat more slowly after the roan, chewing a wad of grass with pricked ears as Boromir caught hold of her reins.

"His girth was loose, Erchirion," his father observed mildly, rubbing sweat from his horse's neck. The roan leaned into the prince's hand and whickered. Both Lord Denethor and Princess Ainaelin looked nonplussed at this observation.

"That is the least of what has gone wrong here, Imrahil. Erchirion, get inside and we'll have a healer take a look at that arm," his mother directed. "What were you thinking, stealing away on your father's horse? The animal is barely half-trained; nothing you need to be taking 'lessons' upon. You're lucky Boromir was already mounted; the stable boys hardly heard you take off and then where would you be?"

"In trouble, Mother," Erchirion answered dutifully, eyes on his feet.

"Worse trouble," his father corrected, irritation lurking behind the bland, patient tone. The prince's face was blocked by horseflesh, so Erchirion wasn't certain if that annoyance was entirely directed at him or if Prince Imrahil had been insulted by his wife's disregard for his training methods. The gelding certainly seemed to be behaving for him as Prince Imrahil detangled his horse's tack.

"Right," Boromir agreed. "Now let's get you back up there."

"You cannot be serious!" The princess stood to block their way, but the Lord Steward gently pulled his much shorter sister-in-law out of the way of their sons, Boromir tall and broad and unstoppable in his amiably inexorable way, his mare's reins in one hand and Erchirion left meek and silent under his cousin's wing, clutching his leather-wrapped arm to his chest.

"I see no reason he wouldn't be." Lord Denethor was quick to take away his hand. Erchirion's mother looked half-ready to take it from him if it were not removed from her person. "The boy will need to learn to ride one-handed eventually if he is to be of any use as a mounted officer; now is as good a time as any to practice."

"My Lord Denethor," Princess Ainaelin hissed, but could not finish her half-spluttered protest under the steward's sardonically raised eyebrow. "Imrahil, please explain to your brother-in-law that our son is nine years old, fallen from an animal he has no business riding, and obviously in pain. I understand that we must all make sacrifices, but war has not come to Belfalas in the last fifteen years, not since you sailed out with Captain Thorongil." From the gleam in the lady's sea-gray eyes as she brought up the Steward's old rival, gone but for the legends since well before Erchirion's time, she was willing to bring that war if she had to.

"Let the boys be boys, Ainaelin," her husband soothed her, or at least attempted to. The skittish roan was easier to calm than the worried mother. "If Erchirion wants to ride my horse, then he'll ride both ways." At his wife's continued skepticism, Prince Imrahil positioned himself at the roan's head, took the gray's reins from his nephew, and motioned for Boromir to set Erchirion up on the gelding.

Normally, Erchirion would protest that he was big enough to mount by himself, even if it was his father's long-legged gelding instead of his own stubby pony, but his arm was a dull ache and the steward and prince's eyes sent ripples of guilt through his spine. From his mother's expression, Erchirion was becoming less and less certain that this could end well, but the men had determined that he should face the consequences of this mess he'd made and Erchirion had never been one to back down from a challenge because of fear for the consequences. He would just lean on his cousin's strong arms as he was boosted up and depend on his father to guide him home safe, but he could grit his teeth and bear this task they had set him.

"I'll be right here," Prince Imrahil assured his wife and son, the roan's reins firmly in hand. Lord Denethor had refused Boromir's offer of the blocky gray mare, choosing to walk back between the horses, on the other side of Prince Imrahil from the princess.

"Well, as long as you've learned something from this, Erchirion," his mother sniffed. Princess Ainaelin of Dol Amroth was not nearly as tactful or graceful in defeat as her husband, but two decades of being in-law to Lord Denethor had taught her when it was best to surrender the argument, however grudgingly.

"Yes, Mother," Erchirion replied in the same meek tone.

The boy was feeling a little less meek after getting home, having his arm seen to - nothing broken, much to his mother's relief, but enough bruising around the gash that the healers thought it best to keep his arm in a sling the next few weeks anyway, - and conversations with his brothers. While Elphir tried to be very patient with his younger siblings, he tended to express his worry for their hurts and disasters the same way their mother did: nagging until Erchirion was ready to pick a fight just to shut his brother's mouth. Amrothos expressed proper awe at Erchirion's daring escapades, but having a six-year-old backing him up against their elder brother was less useful when said six-year-old kept demanding to see his battle wound and poking at it. Lothiriel was even worse, trying to cling to his wounded arm as if afraid her big brother would leave her forever. Irritated, Erchirion did his best to shake them off and seek out his eldest cousin.

"Boromir? Promise me you won't tell Faramir about this, will you?" Erchirion knew Faramir would hear about it one way or another; Elphir was a shameless snitch and what Lord Denethor and Prince Imrahil knew made its way to the steward's younger son sooner or later, but Boromir was one that Erchirion trusted to keep his secrets, for what they were worth.

His grown cousin had mussed his hair fondly before leaning in closer. "I promise I won't tell him that you fell off Uncle's horse if you don't tell him that I let you ride it unaccompanied."

This admission rather surprised Erchirion. "I got up there all by myself. You weren't even in the stables at the same time." There was no reason for Boromir to feel guilty.

"Aye, but I promised him that I'd look out for the four of you while he's training in the garrison. What shall I say to him when he and my men are safe and sound when I return, whereas you've managed to turn your arm into a heraldry of bruises?" Erchirion shrugged helplessly at his elder cousin's half-teasing. Somehow Boromir sounded less confident of the soldiers' safety than the boy figured he would; Boromir was an excellent soldier, but he was not the only good man out there who could help protect Faramir. Faramir was eighteen and quite able to fend for himself, in Erchirion's eyes. But then Boromir treated them all like Princess Ainaelin of Dol Amroth and her eldest son did, sometimes, - as if they were going to break the moment he took his eyes off them, - Boromir was just a touch more subtle about it.

"I'm a colorful cousin," Erchirion declared when he could no longer bear his elder's too-quiet smile. Boromir chuckled, and Erchirion could pretend that the laughter had reached the man's eyes, as well. Boromir still hadn't said much about what it was like out in the garrison and the battlefield, even with all the questions Erchirion and his brothers had asked him earlier. Normally, any mention of the military would spark a fresh round of curious interrogation, but for now the boy was content to let Boromir guide their conversation.

"That you are," Boromir agreed. "And no doubt we'll both be even more colorful by the end of this trip if you keep to your unscheduled lessons."

That sounded all too much like a challenge, and Erchirion couldn't help himself. "So you'll take me riding again tomorrow?" The twenty-three-year-old laughed and shook his head at his younger cousin's tenacity, and for today, it was enough.


End file.
